


Changing Currents

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, but also they real date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10660188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: Rip and Sara, totally unknown to the team, are dating for real. And then their latest objective requires them to fake date. (Jax is not fooled, nor impressed. Gideon is trying to be helpful.)





	Changing Currents

**Author's Note:**

> This is also on my tumblr (icedvulpix!) but I am moving it here for organization's sake! Also because this fic is cute and I hope more people can enjoy it, as it's happy and fun and was good to write.

Sara keeps her place beside Rip at the holotable while he examines the latest time aberration, brow furrowed. “Hell’s fire.”

“ _My Captain, I take it you have read all the information I was able to gather?”_

Rip sighs, rubbing the side of his face. “Yes, thank you Gideon. I appreciate the help. I’m just thinking about how to go from here.”

“Well, the guy who got ahold of some timeship debris is kind of a loner,” Sara says, examining the information Gideon had pulled up. “His wife is a socialite type, though—I could go chat her up or something?”

“I’m not sure I want you going alone,” Rip says, “and besides, you’re unmarried, and this is the height of Queen Victoria’s reign. You might cause a scene approaching a married woman and asking her about her husband.”

“What, you don’t trust me around a pretty lady?”

“Not what I meant at all,” Rip protests. “I’m just thinking of a better way to approach this.”

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Gideon, if you wouldn’t mind making sure there’s a set of clothes for two that would match the trends of the Victorian era available shortly, I’d appreciate it.”

“ _Absolutely, my Captain.”_

“Thank you, love,” Rip says, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling like it would give him an answer. “Mm. Well, seems sound to have two of us go and pose as a couple. Not simply for backup purposes, but if a married woman speaks to another married woman seeking a friend—especially a lonely one with a busy husband, well…”

“Ooh, we’re doing fake married stuff again? Killer. Any takers?” Sara says.

“Count me out, Nate’s a bad liar,” Amaya says, stretching out in her chair. “Jax, you want to pretend to be my boyfriend for a bit?”

Nate makes a noise like a duck being fed through an accordion. Amaya grins. “Don’t worry, I’m teasing, don’t fuss.”

“I’m not fussing! But, just, Jax, maybe you and Sara?” Nate ventures. Rip’s nostrils flare briefly, his lips pursed and his fingers white-knuckling the lip of the holotable.

“We should pretend to be married somewhere it wasn’t illegal,” Jax replies, his tone dry as he pops the bottlecap off a soda bottle. “Also, where I wouldn’t die, probably.”

“I—yeah, okay, sorry,” Nate admits, ducking his head and blushing. “Sara and Mick?”

“I’m not wearing Austen crap,” Mick says, cracking open a can of beer. “Make the professor do it. You never do anything fun, doc.”

“I’m not pretending to be married to anyone, let alone Sara,” Stein protests. “For one, I’d feel awful for Clarissa, and two, I’m almost three times as old as her—“

“Not that uncommon, though. Maybe I’m like, your sexy second wife and you’ve got a lot of money, I dunno,” Sara shrugs. “Ray?”

Ray whines softly and Sara sighs. “Right. Okay. Don’t worry about it.”

No one says Kendra’s name because she’s with them in that moment, and Sara’s heart squeezes, seizes up with pain when she has to look around and concede her presence is like moonlight and air—barely felt but transformative, and gone in an instant.

“We’ll figure it out by tomorrow, count on it,” Sara says. “Mick, I want your help looking over this guy’s house blueprints.”

Mick finishes his beer and holds up two fingers. “In a sec, gotta feed Lisa Jr. and Princess before I forget.”

“Right, then I think the rest of us best prepare for whatever this mission might require,” Rip says, “and Jax, don’t stay up too late.”

“Don’t dad me,” Jax grumbles, but there’s no bite to it, and Rip smiles, just a little.

The hours tick by and the team goes about their business. Rip stays in his office, taking notes and examining his old files on the mores of the era, Jax and Nate play _Mario Kart 8_ with Amaya and Ray, and Stein sits in his chair and makes notes all over a journal of a friend he’s peer-reviewing. Sara and Mick bend over the holotable, looking over the house in hushed voices, planning their route.

It takes a long time for Jax to fall asleep with his controller in hand, and Nate and Amaya to fall asleep tucked under Ray’s sleeping bulk like a hen with her chicks, and while Stein’s an early sleeper, Mick doesn’t rest until the plans are done, and even then Sara has to wait another twenty minutes of drinking and talking until he’s asleep and she can put a blanket over him and a pillow under his head so falling asleep on the office steps won’t give him a neckache.

She glances up at Rip. He puts down his pen with a single deliberate gesture and rises from his seat.

The urge to giggle bubbles in her throat as they slip down the hallway together in shadow, holding hands like teenagers—to keep herself from making noise she pins him against the wall and kisses him, letting the giggle seep between their lips, her grin as she breaks the kiss. Rip blinks, but can’t question it until they’re undressed and under the covers, cradling each other and holding their secret close.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just—there’s something so silly about all this,” Sara admits with a smile. “Like a cheesy movie. We’re literally cuddling under the blankets and hiding from our teammates like it’s summer camp.”

“Do _you_ want to tell them?” Rip protests, kissing her lips lightly. “Can you imagine their reactions?”

“Well, they won’t be mad, you know that, right? They trust you,” Sara says. “You’re captain too.”

“I know that,” Rip sighs, “but trusting me with you is another story.”

Sara’s eyes soften. “Well, I trust you with me. Good enough?”

“More than enough,” he promises, leaning in for another kiss. “My dearest.”

She snuggles closer and lets him hold her tight, his hand in her hair, playing with it as she drifts off in his arms, on the verge of falling asleep completely until—

“Sara,” Rip says, making her turn her head to him and grumble, rolling over in bed. He’s grinning ear to ear, with a glint in his eye. “I’ve got a wonderful idea.”

“Do you now? S’up?” Sara mumbles.

“Let’s do it,” he says. “ _We’ll_ pretend to be married. It’d be fun, wouldn’t it? And the team wouldn’t suspect a thing.”

Sara blinks. “That’s surprisingly devious coming from you, English. I’m into it.”

She lays her head on his shoulder. “Sounds good, then. Let’s do it.”

He hums, satisfied, and holds her close. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be, this is gonna be amazing,” Sara yawns. “Ready to be my husband?”

He doesn’t say anything until she’s well asleep, her breathing soft, steady, and regulated. With a sigh, he tilts his head to kiss her hair.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but I’d like to try.”

He falls asleep, still holding onto her.

…

Sara grimaces, holding onto the wall as Rip pulls her corset in tight. “Jesus, does it have to be _that_ tight? Your outfit was so easy to put on!”

“Sorry, but we’re posing as a wealthy couple, wealthy women wore theirs much tighter,” Rip says, holding onto the laces.

“Sure you don’t want to back out now?” Mick calls over from his chair, watching the proceedings with a grin. Sara flips him off as Rip cinches the corset tighter, her curse cut off by a gasp of air.

“I mean, really, you two made the most sense as a pair,” Amaya remarks. Thankfully, Sara can brush her red cheeks off as side effects from the corset. Rip has no such excuse.

“Right, it makes sense for the captains to go!” Ray agrees, and he’s so earnest about it that they have to stifle giggles. They can’t make eye contact. They might both die if they look at each other right now.

“Well, what matters is that Mick, Ray, you two have to tail us,” Sara says, taking another deep breath, her corset straining. “Make sure you can get into the house okay so you can snag the ship debris. Jax, I want you and Gideon to stay on the ship, monitor Mick and Ray, and let us know immediately if there’s trouble.”

“ _No problem, captain.”_

Sara picks up the folds of the dress and stares at it. “Okay, we’re good. But I’m gonna need a ton of help getting into this thing.”

“ _Hop to it, my Captain.”_

“Don’t be smug, Gideon,” Rip says, adjusting the dress. “Sorry, Sara. If we’d been visiting about ten years back we could’ve had you doing the natural Regency look.”

“You’re fucking mocking me, dick,” Sara wheezes, laughing.

“ _In 1881, the Reasonable Dress Society was founded to stop this sort of thing,”_ Gideon remarks, “ _but I have bad news, being that this is 1878, and bustles have come back in fashion.”_

“Ooh, I’m ready to die,” Sara groans, arching her back out and presenting her ass to Rip, giving him a heavy-lidded look. “C’mon, then, put it on.”

He purses his lips so tight his jaw protests and takes a deep breath before putting his hands on her hips. His fingers itch to go further, to slide down to her inner thighs, slip inside her—

“ _You forgot the bustle, Captain.”_

“Right, right,” Rip mumbles, taking a breath before strapping it around her waist. Sara wiggles her hips again and grins, stretching out.

“Well, this looks like a clamshell for my ass, but I like it,” she says. “I’m gonna have some huge peacock butt.”

“Please,” Rip whimpers, grabbing the skirts of the dress. “Jax, please help me with this.”

“You sure? You look like you’re having fun.”

“Don’t backsass me,” Rip says desperately. “These skirts are tight, we have to make sure they fit.”

“Okay, okay. C’mere, Sara,” Jax says, helping her step into the dress and pull it up around her, adjusting and re-adjusting the bustle until it was fit snugly under the skirt, the bodice of the dress clinging to her corset, her breasts spilling out over the top. Rip glances up briefly before looking away, his face bright pink.

“Jesus, I take it all back, look at these!” Sara says, grabbing her breasts and squeezing. “God, I went from a B to a D in like, two seconds!”

“ _Please,”_ Rip says. “Here, come here, jeweled chokers are in fashion right now.”

“What, like the nineties?”

“ _Princess Alexandra of Wales had a scar on her neck that encouraged her to wear that style, and it trickled down through her ladies in waiting to the general public!”_

“Thank you, Gideon,” Rip says, opening a sleek black box. “Oh, this is—this is lovely, actually.”

_“I worked hard to find something to match Sara’s eyes and complexion.”_

“Aw, gay,” Sara says, beaming. “C’mon then, put it on!”

“You want me to? I’m good with jewelry clasps,” Jax says, and Rip levels his gaze with him, his chest fluttering in panic.

Jax watches Rip without a word, waiting, arms folded over his chest, his brows raised just slightly. Rip’s chest squeezes, tightens, and he licks his lips before pursing them again, their surface slightly bruised.

“Thank you, Jefferson, but that’s not necessary,” he says. “Come here, Sara.”

She takes a step towards him and tilts her head back just slightly, proffering her neck. Rip fastens the choker around her smooth, soft skin, and fumbles with the clasp a few times with his hands shaking. Jax doesn’t say a word, but Rip can _feel_ his gaze.

“There you go,” he says, “you look wonderful.”

“I should, I’m _your_ wife,” Sara says, batting her eyelashes and grinning. “Mm, don’t I just look ravishing, dearest?”

He tips her chin up slightly, meeting her gaze. “Exquisite.”

“Getting in some practice early, captain?”

“We need to look natural,” Sara protests, giving Jax a look. “We look plenty natural, don’t we?”

“Well, don’t look too natural, this is the Victorian period,” Jax says. “Be safe, okay?”

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen, promise,” Sara says, adjusting her skirts. “C’mon, English. Gimme your arm so I can walk right.”

Rip proffers her his arm wordlessly, leading her off the ship.

“ _Have fun!”_ Gideon calls.

“You mock my pain,” Rip grumbles, helping Sara out of the Waverider and onto the hill overlooking their target’s manor.

“Well,” Sara says brightly, “come on then, my husband. Shall we?”

“I suppose,” Rip sighs, the two of them descending the hill towards the paved streets.

…

Their target frequented a café done up in French style, reserving the same table every day and having the same pot of tea and lunchtime setup, which was convenient for locating her—the question was how to get closer, naturally, and for a second Rip balks at the edge of the patio, but Sara reacts first, sweeping over to her and smiling.

“Hello, so good to see you again,” Sara says, proffering her hand. “We met at the last dinner your husband hosted, Mrs. Kirke? I’m Mrs. Hunter.”

Rip’s gut lurched, his face pale. “Charmed.”

Mrs. Kirke regarded them both with a baffled gaze for a second, but only just. She smoothed it over and smiled warmly. “Mrs. Hunter, so good to see you again. How have you been?”

“Oh, quite all right, thank you,” Sara says. “Do you mind if we take the table next to you? I’d love to catch up.”

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Kirke says. “You can call me Margaret, dear.”

“Mrs. Kirke,” Rip says, his voice faint, before Sara takes a seat next to her and cuts him off, putting her hand atop his.

“How have those roses in your garden been doing?” Sara says. “You can see them from all the way down the street. They look lovely.”

“Oh, it’s been such a tough time of it lately, do you still think they look nice? I’ve been worried about bugs, and with this dreary weather,” she sighs. “I’ve asked my husband to move the trellises and help me replant, or even hire a gardener, but he’s been horrendously busy.”

“I know that feeling,” Sara admits. “It’s been ages since I’ve had alone time with my husband.”

They exchange a look that makes Rip’s stomach do backflips. Margaret smiles. “Where has he been that you’ve been left alone all this time?”

“Oh, it—um,” Sara worries at her cheek for just a second. “India. He’s been in India, with…with his shipping company. And I’ve had to run the house all by myself.”

She touches the choker briefly, the sapphires dangling around the opal set into the band gleaming against her skin. “He brought me back this, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, it’s quite all right to be upset,” Rip cuts in, and both women look at him, blinking. “But what matters is I’m here now. Is that not so, dearest?”

Sara’s gaze is warm, a little amusement sparkling in her eyes. “I think so.”

“My husband has been promising me much of the same,” Margaret sighs, staring at her choker. “He promises me once his latest project is finished he will have all the time in the world to spend with me. Perhaps you should host a party at your house? Give him a reason to go outside, hopefully?”

“I’d like that,” Sara says. “How have you been with him so busy?”

“Oh, I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining,” she says, looking into her lap. Her lunch arrives, and Rip orders for the two of them before tuning back into the conversation. “He’s just very distant, lately. Moreso than usual. Like he’s…afraid of me.”

Sara nods. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

Rip’s stomach drops. “Sara—“

Margaret doesn’t seem to notice, nodding along. “It’s so difficult! I don’t know how to approach him! And he’s normally all right with me having guests and hosting parties, even if he doesn’t attend, but now…”

“He’s shut you up in that place? That’s,” Sara stumbles over her words to keep from swearing. “Unfortunate.”

“It’s all right, I suppose I should expect this,” she admits. “He’s a busy man and needs his space. Still, I’m awfully lonely.”

Sara sizes the woman up and considers something. “Margaret? How old are you, exactly?”

“Sara, you can’t just ask her—“

“Not yet one and twenty,” Margaret says. “It’s all right, Mr. Hunter. I don’t mind.”

“You’re so young,” Sara sighs. “You shouldn’t be stuck in the house all day if you don’t want to. Rip doesn’t keep _me_ in the house because he’s busy.”

“Oh, Mr. Hunter? He’s awfully lenient with you!” Margaret giggles.

“Eh, I keep him in line,” Sara says, and Margaret laughs harder.

“That’s an odd thing to say about your husband,” she admits. “But you’re awfully…well, you have a presence. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“I do what I can,” Sara says, leaning in. “Hey, eat your lunch, you’re gonna starve.”

“Oh, right! But I should wait for you, it’s impolite,” Margaret says.

“You know what’s worse than being impolite? Cold soup,” Sara says. “We’re fine, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” Rip admits. “I mean.”

“If you insist, but I am enjoying this conversation,” she says, having a sip of her tea. “Perhaps instead of such a thorough lunch you could attend dinner at my home?”

“Shouldn’t you ask your husband?” Sara ventures.

“Well, he’s been in the basement all this time, so what he don’t know won’t hurt him,” Margaret preens, grinning. “Perhaps I should take a page from your book, Mrs. Hunter.”

“We’d love to,” Sara says, glancing over at Rip. “Right?”

“Yes,” Rip says vaguely, “yes, of course.”

…

“I didn’t even have to flash my boobs or anything,” Sara says as they walk down the street, still arm in arm, if only so Sara doesn’t topple over. “Well, honestly, in this corset I’m already flashing my boobs. Good work, team.”

“Sara,” Rip sighs, rubbing the side of his face. “She was very receptive to your attention, I’ll admit.”

“Well, duh, she’s lonely,” Sara says. “A pretty girl with her breasts up to her chin coming over to talk to her? And she’s safe to talk to because she’s married and everything.”

“We’ll have a clear in to the manor, which is what matters,” Rip says. “If he’s trying to do something with the timeship debris it could cause harm to the other residents of this town, himself, or his wife. We need to get in and out—“

“Which is why Ray and Mick are coming with us, don’t look so fussy,” Sara tuts. “We’ll have them go down in the basement and get the scrap while we keep her entertained upstairs. You know, light, scintillating conversation, possible threesome, the usual.”

Rip’s cheekbones flush pink. “I don’t think—“

“Oh, shush, I’m teasing,” Sara says. “Don’t you trust me, dear husband?”

“Don’t—I mean,” Rip fumbles. “You know I do. I’m just not sure if—well, it—“

Sara kisses his cheek. “Dummy. I just like seeing you flustered. C’mon, buy me flowers, okay? And we should maybe bring booze for the party.”

“They don’t just sell booze in Queen Victoria’s England, Sara.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I upset the lady on your fancy commemorative plates, Rip.”

“ _Sara,”_ Rip says, heaving a sigh. “If you start mocking the Queen I won’t buy you flowers.”

Sara pouts. Rip smiles, just a little, hands in his pockets as they start down the street, towards the edge of the village. They kill time watching the people pass from a grassy hill and buying flowers from a girl with a wagonful of fresh cuttings. Rip winds a few into the braided updo Sara’s sporting, adjusting two bright daffodils to bob above the rest like the sun. He presses a kiss to the back of her head, idle, for absolutely no one’s benefit.

“ _Trying to keep your act up for the street rats, captain?”_ Jax’s voice blips on the communicator. Sara snorts, tossing her head, and Rip blushes.

“Mm. You never know who might pass by,” he responds. “One must always be prepared, Jax.”

“ _Sure, captain.”_

Rip adjusts the bluebells flanking the ends of Sara’s updo and sighs, turning off his communicator. “You think Jax is onto us?”

Sara makes a face. Rip grimaces. “Okay, fair. He definitely is. But the question is, if he is…”

“Then Stein might be,” Sara finishes for him, lifting her head to look up at him.

They sit in silence for a long time.

“Perhaps we should both die now,” Rip says, “spare ourselves the trouble.”

“Nah, tried that once, not as fun as you’d think,” Sara admits, cracking her jaw. “Change our names, run away into the woods, live as hermits forever without any human contact except each other?”

“Splendid.”

In agreement with one another, they bump fists and lean back against the grass, watching the sky.

…

Jax sits on the edge of the holotable. “Hey, Gideon?”

“ _Jax! Are you all right? Can I help you with something?”_

“Nah, it’s just,” Jax says, “you know, if Rip and Sara were…were a thing, you’d like…tell me, right?”

“ _I cannot!”_

“Because you’re following his orders?”

“ _No, Jax. Because I love them both, and would not want them to have their privacy disturbed.”_

Jax sighs. “Jeez, all right. I don’t care, I’m just worried they’re going to screw this up because they’re thinking about each other, not the aberration.”

“ _I assure you, that is not in my Captain’s nature. And Sara has a sturdy head on her shoulders as well. Take heed, Jax. They’ll see this through.”_ Gideon whirred. “ _But, if you are still truly concerned, why don’t you check in with Mick and Ray?”_

“You know what? I will, thanks,” Jax says, switching communication channels. “Hey, Mick? How’re things on your end?”

“ _Eh. Haircut got in through the keyhole and let me in. We’re just laying low in the attic waiting until we get word from Blondie that we’re good to go.”_

“Yeah, I think the wife mentioned something about his basement? Be prepared to move through the house,” Jax says. “Hey, Mick?”

“ _S’up, kiddo?”_

“You notice anything weird about…y’know, Rip and Sara?”

“ _Y’mean, like more than normal? Nah. Whiskers is just fussy ‘cause he just got back. Clingy, you know? Lenny used t’do it when he got separated from me an’ Lis for too long. He’s gotta get used to her again before he can distance himself.”_

“Oh,” Jax says. “I…I’m sorry, Mick.”

“ _What? Nah, s’fine. When he comes back, he’s gonna really need some of that, you know? This is the longest it’s ever been since. You know. He.”_

“It’s okay,” Jax says, fiddling with his hands. His heart hurts. “Mick? He’s gonna come back.”

“ _Don’t have to tell me twice. Keep an eye on things back there, kiddo.”_

“I will,” Jax promises, turning the communicator off. “Gideon?”

“ _Jax?”_

“Do you…can you like, I dunno how to ask this…” Jax trails off. “Yknow, can you see into the Oculus still? I know it’s busted, but can you like…see what’s inside it or something?”

“ _I am afraid not. If I could, I would. Take heed, Jax; no one knows what would happen to someone who made such an intimate contact with the Rift. Mr. Rory might have the best idea of what went on out of all of us.”_

“Right, Chronos,” Jax sighs. “Okay. One problem at a time. But—but just asking, ‘cause, y’know—we could visit the Vanishing Point again, right? You know. If we needed to.”

There’s a long pause. Jax assumes Gideon’s given up on answering until there’s a small beep.

“ _Well, it would take a most skilled pilot who understood their ship and had unparalleled navigational technique,”_ Gideon says. “ _Fortunately, that description suits my Captain perfectly.”_

“Good to know,” Jax says, turning back to the navigation controls.

…

The gates swing open for Sara and Rip as they walk up the gravel path, Sara’s arm wound tight in Rip’s own. Rip looked down at her, watching flowers bob in her braid and humming quietly to himself. Sara glances up. “Hey, you okay?”

“All right, yes,” Rip promises. “Those are just nice flowers in your hair.”

“I’m glad you like them, ‘cause I can’t see them,” Sara laughs, knocking on the door.

“If they stay, I’ll take a picture when we get back to the ship,” Rip says, stroking the nape of her neck. Sara shivers in pleasure as the door swings open and the servant ushers them inside the hall. Her fingers wind inside of Rip’s and squeeze tight.

“You don’t have to keep holding my hand,” Rip says.

“Don’t I?”

Rip tsks and kisses her cheek. Sara grins, taking in the ripple of light coming in through the velvet curtains against the window, slowly stirring in the breeze. The edge of the sunset creeps in through the window, the last bit of light striking the drawing room in shades of gold.

“Oh! Sara, Mr. Hunter! You’ve arrived, hello,” Margaret says, taking the stairs down into the drawing room, smiling broadly. “You look lovely as ever, Sara.”

“So do you! You changed your outfit,” Sara gushes. “Took a lot of effort, huh?”

“Oh, these things take so much time to get in and out of, but that’s what the help is for,” she beams, taking a seat. “Did you not return home?”

“Wasn’t worth the trouble,” Sara says. “My…my husband and I, we went and enjoyed the weather. Bought some flowers.”

Her mouth says husband like Miranda’s. Her lips form it like clay, not sand, sturdy but malleable, testing out the word, new. Their voices are different, but the emphasis is so similar it gives him chills as he sits at the table, watching her reach up to touch the flowers in her hair.

“It was quite lovely,” Rip admits, “if you’ll excuse my wife for a moment?”

He glances at Sara and she nods. “Yes, sorry, it’s been a long day and I would like to—to, uh—powder my nose—“

She leaves in a swish of skirts and Rip is alone with Margaret. He drums his fingers on the table, his lips pursed. She adjusts her dinner jacket. No one comes with the first course. They stare at each other from across the table, and Rip is ready to die.

“You love her so much,” Margaret says. Rip starts in his seat.

“Pardon?”

“I said,” she repeats, “you love her so much. You keep staring at the door she left through.”

“Oh,” Rip mumurs. “I suppose I am.”

“Well,” she says. “Do you?”

“Of course,” he says. “I mean, how could you not?”

“You’d have to ask my husband,” she sighs. “Forgive me. This is superbly impolite. I shouldn’t be complaining in front of another woman’s husband—“

“I applaud your decorum, I really do,” Rip says, “but you can tell me.”

“It’s just—he’s so busy,” she says. “I know he loves me! I know I’m a fool to assume a husband’s love, marriage is more than that, but I thought—I mean, I knew. I did. I do. I’m just, it’s very hard, and we only moved to this house recently, we used to live much closer to London and I had friends and parties and even if he didn’t come he liked to hear all about them and I, I miss that. I miss the way things were.”

Rip purses his lips and considers for a long few seconds, choosing his words in his head until he’s sure of what he needs to say when he opens his mouth. “Have you told him any of this?”

“I wouldn’t want to upset him,” she says, looking down at her hands. “None of this is his fault. I’m not his fault. Who I am, I mean. And I don’t want to blame him. It’s just—“

“Things are different now,” Rip says, staring at the door Sara left through, staring at nothing at all, his eyes trying to recreate the shape of her in the air, “things are different, but you’re the same. And you’re afraid.”

“Well,” she admits, “yes.”

Rip nods. “The only thing I can think to do is carry on with it. If things are moving along, as long as you’re where you need to be, the current will carry you with them, I think.”

“Oh,” Margaret says. “Did she teach you that sort of thing? Your wife?”

_Both of them did, I think._

“Yes,” Rip says, and they lapse into a comfortable silence until Sara opens the door and beckons to him. He follows her out into the hallway and she grabs his arm.

“Mick and Ray snagged the parts. We should probably go,” Sara says.

“Don’t you want to stay for dessert, darling?”

“Ooh, dessert,” Sara considers. “You know what? Fuck it. We never get to have fun. Let’s go eat cake.”

He offers her his arm and they return to the dining room, all smiles.

…

“Is she literally kissing frosting off his mustache? That’s fucking gay,” Mick announces, the team hovering around the Waverider’s display of Rip’s location. “Gideon, why do you have this?”

“ _So I can always keep an eye on my Captain!”_

“Oh boy,” Mick grimaces, adjusting the screen. “Jesus, I didn’t know two people could nuzzle that much that often.”

“She’s really enjoying herself, yeah,” Ray admits. “I think Rip is too? Which is weird.”

“Rip never enjoys anything, that can’t be right,” Amaya says, leaning over the screen.

“Nope, he’s feeding her a bite off his fork. The husband’s even come up from his workshop—well, not that there’s much to do after we took his stuff, but he seems happy? Maybe it’ll work out.”

“Maybe we should ask for our captains back,” Jax grumbles, paging Sara on the communicator. “Hey, captain? You two wanna hustle back sometime this century or what?”

“ _We’re having such a wonderful time, though!”_

“Yeah, well, date night is getting pretty gross to watch,” Jax says as Rip and Sara share a drink, Rip kissing her hand as he takes it from him.

“ _Mm, just for that I’m going to feed him another bite of cake.”_

“Just hurry up, you’re not fooling anybody,” Jax says, killing the communication. “Okay, so, when we’re done watching them neck like teenagers—“

“Is it just me, or is it kind of like watching your parents make out?”

“What? Ew,” Nate says, wrinkling his nose. Ray shrugs.

“Would you all just go and make sure the timeship parents— _parts—_ are in good condition? We might be able to use some of them,” Jax says.

“Shouldn’t you? You’re the engineer.”

“I’m—Ray, seriously?”

“I mean, you are.”

Jax concedes the point with a nod, but he’s not exactly happy about poking through the debris with Ray.

“So,” Ray begins, and Jax holds up a hand.

“Don’t.”

“You’re not jealous, then?”

“Ew, no,” Jax says. “Sara’s not my type, for one, and Rip is like…my weird sort of dad. I just wish they’d be honest with us.”

“About what?”

Jax stares at Ray. Ray stares at Jax.

“You know what? Nevermind,” Jax says, going back to the timeship parts.

…

Sara hugs Margaret at the front door. “Hey, take care of yourself, okay? And go back to London soon.”

“I think I will,” Margaret promises. “Hamish is in such better spirits now. I’ll have to take good care of him.”

“Worry about you first,” Sara says, and Margaret hushes her, hugging her tight.

“I’ll be all right,” she says. “It’s been nice to have a friend again. You’ll come to call before we return to London?”

“I’ll try,” Sara sighs. “Goodnight.”

Margaret turns to Rip. “Mr. Hunter?”

“Yes?”

“You should take good care of her,” Margaret says. “That thing you said before? She’s where you need to be.”

Rip considers this, then nods. “Yes. I think she is, thank you.”

Margaret bows and the servants escort them to the gate. Rip and Sara wait along the hillside for the ship to come back, holding hands and looking up at the sky. The stars blanket the night after a few minutes of getting used to the darkness. Sara bends down and picks a daffodil stirring under the moonlight, proffering it to Rip without a word. Their fingers wind together as Rip looks up again. “You know I know all these constellations by heart, right?”

“I didn’t,” Sara says. “Show me?”

And he does, until the cloaking device shifts the night around the shape of their ship as it lands, and they board it, bidding the stars goodbye, albeit briefly.

Back in the main bay, Sara grips the doorframe of Rip’s office, groaning in relief as he undoes the laces of her corset, her dress in a pile beside his chair. There’s a bouquet of flowers in water on his desk now, brightening up the room. Rip almost leans in to kiss her shoulder before correcting himself, standing up straight. “Better?”

“Mm, much,” Sara says, stretching out, the corset panels sliding over her sides. “You could fuck me like this, you know. Corset hanging off me right over your desk kind of thing. It’d be romantic.”

“It’d be incredibly public.”

“ _I think you should hear her out,”_ Gideon chimes in. Rip’s face is pink. Sara laughs.

“ _As co-captain, naturally.”_

“Naturally,” Rip says. “Sara, put proper clothes on, please. I’m calling a meeting, so that’s a no-go on the…your idea.”

“Sure, but you’re a quitter,” Sara teases, tweaking his nose. “S’fine. Gives me time to get something ready.”

“What something?” Rip says, but she’s already gone. “Sara? _Sara!”_

…

The team is assembled and Rip and Sara stand in front of them as usual, Sara’s hands behind her back as Rip goes through the info on the holotable.

“Well, everything went according to plan, really, I’m…shocked? And I think we saved a marriage. So, go team, excellent job, we should celebrate,” Rip says. “If there’s no further aberrations at the moment, perhaps a few days in 1920s Paris?”

“Ooh, glamorous,” Ray says. “The city of love, huh?”

Rip’s face goes up like dry tinder in August. “I’m not—certainly it’s just—you— _“_

 _“_ WE WERE DATING FOR REAL THE WHOLE TIME,” Sara shouts, and throws a smoke bomb.

Before the smoke clears, someone grabs his arm—it’s Sara, she’s laughing, and she’s pulling him down the hall and into their room before anyone can ask questions or protest.

“Where did you get that smoke bomb?” Rip says as she kisses his throat, sliding him out of his coat, her fingers on the buttons of his shirt.

“The League, duh, I’ve been saving it,” Sara says, sliding his shirt off, her fingers dancing over the scars along his chest. “I’ve wanted to do that for like, my entire life.”

“Is that right?” Rip says, his voice warm and fond as he looks down her, her hands making quick work of his belt.

“Yep. So c’mere and kiss me, English, I’ve wanted to do _this_ since we got back on board,” Sara says, pulling his pants down to his ankles, proffering him a hand.

Rip accepts it with a smile, letting her pull him down onto the floor beside the bed, just happy to be along for the ride.

 


End file.
